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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234362">Chapter Twenty-Six</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/flour_power/pseuds/flour_power'>flour_power</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek &amp; Paul/Levenson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bisexual Evan Hansen, Connor was a complicated person, Evan died AU, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Except Evan was less complicated, Gen, Ghost Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Ghost Evan (Dear Evan Hansen), Ghosts, More tags to be added, Rewrite, So was Evan, Trans Character, Trans Evan Hansen, Trans Male Character, not currently updating</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:02:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/flour_power/pseuds/flour_power</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Evan hadn’t gotten up in Chapter 26? What if he had gone through with it and committed suicide? This is a rewrite of chapters 26 onwards if the Dear Evan Hansen novel where Evan and Connor are in the afterlife together. There are some Feels™ and some Feelings™.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor Murphy &amp; Evan Hansen, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ends and Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I thought I was imagining it. So I tried to go back to sleep. But I couldn’t. There was something… off. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bolted upright. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was I just doing?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s voice came from the doorway. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Connor?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You tried to kill yourself. It worked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pushed myself off the bed. Lying there was me, bloody and lifeless. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But how? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I looked down at my hands and turned them over. They looked fine. Normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor snorted. “Like I said, you’re dead.” I looked up at him. He was standing in the doorway, arms folded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, was I talking out loud? I’m so—” I stopped. “Wait. Did you say I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked startled. “I didn’t think you would actually be able to hear me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh-what do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” he started, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “Nobody else can see me, so why should you be able to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blinked. “But you’re dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am.” His wrists were crossed and he was leaning forward. His hair was falling into his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then how can I see you?” I asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. “My guess is that it is because you are also dead. I can’t see other dead people, though. Who knows?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “Why aren’t you just leaving me to fend for myself? After… after all that I did?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shoot. He has to know about it. About everything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I sat down next to him. Our shoulders brushed. I didn’t mind. If he did, he didn’t say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat there for a while. Finally, he says, “Because nobody was there to explain it to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We sat there in silence for a while until a woman came rushing in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mom.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I didn’t recognize her for a second. Her hair was tangled and messy and her purse fell open as she dropped it on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Evan, my baby.” She knelt next to the bed, staring at my limp, lifeless body. Her eyes welled up. I reached out my hand, but Connor caught it and guided it back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “It’s no use. You’ll go right through her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nurse came in. “Miss,” she called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom ignored her. “Evan,” she whispered. “Evan, oh Evan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss, you’re not allowed to be in here. Miss!” She raised her voice. Mom looked up. She pushed herself up, got her purse, and let the nurse guide her out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Evan. Evan, my Evan.” Her words followed her out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hugged Connor. I buried my face in his hoodie and cried. He put his arms around me awkwardly. “Hey,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Sort of. I mean you’re dead, but—hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We sat like that for what seemed like hours—and hell, it could have been. Finally I let go and dried my face on my sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You good?” Connor asked me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” My nose was stuffy and my voice—God, I hated the way it sounded. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t know I could produce snot while I was dead. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I made a mental note to ask Connor about that later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor smiled. “Good. Want to go to the park? I can answer some of your questions there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. How does death work?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They’re at the park. Evan, my child, don’t hurt. We love you.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is painful. These children need help. I want them to be happy. Nobody cries somehow, but it’s still sad. It will get better I swear!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>We walked in silence to the park. Connor looked… chill? Cool? He looked like he couldn’t care less about anything. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was dead. And also panicking about the fact that I was dead. And the Murphys were going to tell the world. And Zoe hates me. And Connor</span>
  <em>
    <span> freaking </span>
  </em>
  <span>Murphy, Zoe’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was walking next to me. I was panicking about a lot of things. Oh yeah, and my mom. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My mom.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oh God, my mom. I killed myself so I wouldn’t have to deal with all this </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but nope. I didn’t want to deal with the consequences of my actions but instead I was left to spectate with only Connor Murphy to talk to. The irony. I laughed. Connor glanced at me but said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We finally got there. I noticed how Connor had avoided the Murphys’. I wondered who’s sake that was for, his or mine. Maybe both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor looked up at the sign. “Someone got around to repairing it,” he remarked.</span>
</p><p><span>“Yeah,” I said. “I did that. Over the summer. I was an apprentice park ranger. N-not to brag. I’m sure what you did over the summer was great too.” </span><em><span>Nice save, Evan. Wonderful.</span></em> <em><span>Just lovely.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>“What happened to being my best friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could feel my face heating up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shoot. Frick, frick, frick. He knows. Of course he knows!</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I-uh-sorry. I mean I’m sorry I just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of his mouth twitched. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded, relieved at the change of subject. “We could go to the visitor’s center. They have benches outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor smiled. “Lead the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We found a nice bench outside the visitor’s center where nobody was sitting. Most of the benches were unoccupied, actually. People didn’t go to Ellison very often, especially in the autumn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Connor said. “Any questions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded. “A lot. You said I would go through her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded. “Mhm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why am I not going through the ground?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can if you think about it hard enough. It’s something about how our brains know we’re ghosts I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it does. I wasn’t born yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, uh, so next question. I can still cry. And make snot. How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t come up with a good answer for that one.” He crossed arms. “Anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. What about hormone levels and stuff? Like if I was taking medication before…” I trailed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised his eyebrows. “You do cocaine or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shook my head. “No, no. Not like that. I don’t do drugs. That kind of drugs. It’s all legal. Legal drugs.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Christ, I can’t talk.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Like medicine!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed a bit. “Okay then. I don’t really know. Had no reason to. It should be obvious soon enough though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s right. It’s going to be obvious. If it isn’t already.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you some questions that aren’t ghost-related?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “Fine. I know what you’re going to ask, but fuck it. We can’t avoid this shit for eternity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what do you think I was going to ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why I’m like this. Why I left school. Why I came back. Why I’m such a shitty person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blinked. “No. I wanted to ask why…why you killed yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat there for a while, thinking. “ Because...because nobody cared. Because I didn’t matter to anyone. There was </span>
  <em>
    <span>one person</span>
  </em>
  <span> who cared. Or I thought he did.” He bit his lip. “I couldn’t pretend I had friends any more. He was gone. There was nobody left. I was on my own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of us spoke for a while. Finally, I broke the silence. “Who was he?” I asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His name was Miguel. We were—I don’t know what we were. Boyfriends? Just friends? I don’t even know anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, boyfriends? Is Connor gay?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I mean, I had never seen him with a girl before. I had just assumed… “Boyfriends?” I asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned back and groaned. “Shit. Are you homophobic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no. Just curious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m bisexual. If you tell anyone, and I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I will—oh fuck, we’re dead. Right. I’m not out to anyone other than Miguel. Or, I wasn’t. Now I am. But I’m also dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Cool.” I laughed a bit. Connor frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of personal relationships, you were dating my sister, right?” He narrowed his eyes. “I couldn’t really tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we were dating. I think. I’m not completely sure either.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>But you tell your girlfriend things, right? If we were dating I would have told her. I wouldn’t have been such a coward. I would have trusted her to love me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor smiled. I hadn’t seen him smile like that before. He was always sullen and serious. I liked that smile. Even though I didn’t know Connor that well when he was alive, I had gotten so wrapped up in his life. I knew him so well. I knew his pain. It was nice to see him happy. It was nice to see him, period. It was painful, sure. But I’d rather spend eternity with Connor Murphy than no one at all. Than be alone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments are love!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Watching</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Uhhhhhh. So I just realized the DEH is written in present tense. I'm not sure how I didn't notice before. I'm using that going forwards. Just a heads-up. Also Chapter 26 is one of the last chapters, so this would be a sequel or something. I don't know. Trigger warning for implied/referenced self-harm I guess. I don't think it should be much of a problem, but just in case.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Evan eventually fell asleep on the park bench. I can’t fall asleep, so I’m sitting next to him, contemplating my existence. It must be uncomfortable for him. It’s not for me. I’ve been dead long enough to know that the discomfort was just a trick of the mind. I can control it, now that I’m dead. It’s one of the few things I can control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep telling myself that I’m dead, yet I haven’t fully realized it. I keep waiting to get used to the fact that I have joined the ranks of the deceased, but for some reason, I can’t. I never believed in that heaven bullshit. Larry and Cynthia would make us go to church, but I never got into it. I wouldn’t have </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed myself</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Evan so wonderfully put it if I had. I would go to hell for sure. I mean, think about it. I am a shitty person. Am? Was? Am I still a person? I don’t know, and it scares me. Jesus Christ (there I go, taking the Lord's name in vain), why is death so complicated? I thought I had it all figured out, but then Evan came along and fucked up my whole system.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Evan</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Why the hell is he here? I don’t know how I feel about him. On one hand, he’s the most awkward, anxious idiot in the universe. Not to mention the Connor Project. But on the other hand, I suppose it is sort of nice to have company. Especially his company. From what I can tell, Evan is a decent guy and he, weirdly enough, doesn’t seem to hate me. I can’t begin to fathom why. Besides, he’s sort of fun to toy with. I like making him flustered. He gets so embarrassed over nothing. It’s entertaining, like nothing else in ghostlandia. I guess it’s sort of mean, but then again, I’m sort of mean. It’s what I’ve been told my whole life. Might as well live (die? be dead?) up to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evan pushes himself up. “Connor?” he asks, dazed. “Wha?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dead,” I answer. I raise an eyebrow. “Remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He yawns. “Oh yeah. Right. The whole being dead thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” I begin. “What do you want to do today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-uh. No? What? I mean, what do you do?” He still seems sort of tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug. “Watch you, mostly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That catches his attention. “W-ah-what?” he splutters. “Me? Watch me?” I look at him, amused, with one arm hanging over the bench. It’s a chill position, one that I’ve practiced and perfected. Makes me look like I don’t care about anything. Which I do. Everyone thinks I live in my own fantasy dreamworld or something, but I don’t. I hear everything they say about me. Every slight, every insult, is as sharp as a dagger. Maybe that’s why I have so many scars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evan stares at me, his eyes wide. “Why would you—why would you want to be there? I was lying about you. I was twisting your life. I was just using you because I wanted attention. I just wanted to be noticed.” He sounds incredulous. But also… sad. Angry. And I feel a pang of sympathy for him. I brush it aside. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What he’s saying is </span>
  </em>
  <span>true</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Right? Isn’t it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>“Trust me, I know the feeling. I ended myself because of it. Nobody cared about me. Funny that’s why they started loving you.” </span><em><span>Oh, gosh I shouldn’t be saying this. He’s going to leave and I’m going to be stranded by myself here in this twisted hell.</span></em><span> But I’m still bitter about it. How could I not be? I thought I’d forgiven him. </span><em><span>Have I?</span></em> <em><span>Why are emotions so complicated?</span></em></p><p>
  <span>Evan doesn’t respond in anger like I expected him to. Instead, he looks…perplexed? “Why are you telling me this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I…I’m not actually sure. “I think…I should be mad at you, I should hate you. That’s who I am, I’m angry, I hate the world, I hate everyone. Right? But I can’t help but forgive you. Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> craved attention. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to be understood. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to be noticed. And not seen as a freak. Not just seen as the kid who threw a printer at Ms. G in second grade. Because that’s not who I am. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> am so much more. And I wanted the world to know. But now that…now nobody can know. So I want you to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” he says. “Wow. Um. Okay. That was kind of a lot. But, um. I want you to know that I notice you. I care about you. Actually. I didn’t know you when we were alive but—woah, that felt weird to say—but I wish I had. Because you seem—you seem like. A good person? Shoot, not like that. God, I can’t speak. I’m sorry.” He puts his face in his hands. “I mean, I actually like you. Not like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you.” He laughs nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, um, do you want to do something? Like, see anybody? Shit. Do you want to see your mom? Or someone else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. Like, emotionally. can we just walk around Ellison?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles. “Thanks.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Conmments are love!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Not a real chapter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Heyyyyyyyy folks. Guess who procrastinated and put off writing this week's chapter? Me. I decided to play Fallen London instead of actually doing anything productive. I regret nothing. Fallen London is a text-based RPG set in Victorian London. Except London has fallen under the surface and in now in this weird dark world filled with demons and magic. It's sort of hard to explain. Just go play it.</p><p>Hopefully I'll update twice next week, but we'll see if that actually happens. In the meantime, play Fallen London!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Breathe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another chapter, y'all! I'm doing chapter names now. I want to change the name of the work also butI haveno idea what I would change it to so.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>This is so weird. Everything about it. It feels like a nightmare but it’s too weird. Dreams are weird, but this isn’t dream-weird. This is living hell weird. But we’re not living. There’s no waking from this nightmare. We’re gone forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor looks at me, unsure of what to do. “So. Where do you want to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want a tour of the park?” I don’t really know what else to do. I need to stay distracted. I can’t think about my mom, or the Murphys, or Alana, or Jared, or the Connor Project, or how the world is reacting to my death. Which is next to impossible, since I’m with Connor Murphy. How is he handling this so well? I mean, he seems angry? Sort of? But he’s trying to hold it back. Does he hate me? He should. Everyone else does. But Connor isn’t acting the way I would expect him to at all. He doesn’t seem like the Connor everyone thought he was, but he also doesn’t seem like the Connor I knew. Or pretended to know. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to know him, but he scares me. I’m not sure why—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—van. Evan.” Connor’s shaking me. “Evan!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh? Oh, I’m sorry. Hi. I’m here.” I smile weakly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor looks concerned. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm? Oh, yes, sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns. “Okay.” He doesn’t sound fully convinced, but he’s willing to let it go. I relax. “I said you could lead me on a tour, if you’d like.” He brushes some hair out of his face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nice hair. Very school-shooter chic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Um, okay. Sure. Follow me, I guess.” I laugh nervously. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck are you laughing at?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Why am I nervous? I mean, aside from the fact that I’m always nervous. Whatever. I shrug it off. I can worry about this later. I have all the time in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the summer, I didn’t actually give that many tours. I tried to avoid talking to people as much as possible. I don’t have much expertise in tour-giving, but I do know a lot about the park. So I find myself leading Connor around Ellison, spewing random facts about trees and the wildlife and the history of the park. “Look at these dogwoods. They’re native to New Jersey, like most of the plants and animals in the park.” “A large oak tree can consume up to a hundred gallons of water a day” “This is the “Look at that red-shouldered hawk!”“Here, most of the trees are pines. Did you know that pine cones have gender? Well, not gender. Because plants don’t have brains. But they have sex.” (Connor snickered at that one. My cheeks lit up. “N-not like that! You know what I mean!”).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m so absorbed in my dream-world that I don’t notice it getting dark. Finally, Connor stops me “Birds are the only animals with f—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Evan? It’s getting late. It’s probably around six.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Oh, yeah, I guess it is. What time is it anyways? How much time has passed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You woke up in the hospital the afternoon after you got hit by the car and then you fell asleep on the bench that evening. It’s around six o’clock now, which means it’s been about 46 hours since you got hit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frick. That means it’s probably blown up on social media. The Murphys have probably told everyone everyone everything (I mean, why wouldn’t they? I deserve it.). I could never show my face in public again—if I were alive. I’m not. I couldn’t show my face in public even if I wanted to. Why am I even worrying about this? I worry about everything, but I shouldn’t be worried about this. This has no impact on me whatsoever. So I can ignore it. Like I do with all my other problems. Deal with them later. Run away. And hurt everyone else around me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please leave.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s what got me into this mess in the first place. I’m getting off track. I'm getting too upset over nothing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. In for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just breathe, Evan</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It doesn’t matter. I can do whatever I want now that I’m dead. I don’t have to worry about this anymore. I’m going to worry, because that’s what I do but I shouldn’t have to. It’s all okay. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments are love!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 400 pounds of Cheddar cheese</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yay! No angst! Happy boys. See, I can make my babies happy too.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y'all self-isolation has kinda messed up my schedule a lot. So now I'm going to try to update before 2 AM GMT on Saturdays. Yes, I know this chapter is a bit late, I'm sorry. Also it's super short because I started writing this on Thursday. Sorry about that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Connor and I decide to sleep on benches again (well, I decide. Connor doesn’t disagree). We start heading back slowly so I have lots of time to reflect on…stuff. But I don’t really want to. Death is just as confusing as life, and if there was one thing I took away from my time among the living it was that life is a big pot of emotion stew with a little bit of salt for flavor except if salt was confusion and chaos and your salt shaker broke and spilled all of the salt into the stew. So I just ignore it. I tune it out. I focus on the sound of the birds chirping in the trees. I can identify a couple of them. I focus on the smell of the park. It’s a smell I came to love over the summer. I focus on the color of the sky. It’s a beautiful fiery orange fading into inky purple and a few stars have come out. I focus on the feeling of the evening air. It’s cool and there’s the slightest of breezes. And my worries fade away. I know I can’t keep going on like this forever, but it's nice in the moment. It’s peaceful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I’m walking, I notice that I’m picking up body language from Connor. My posture has changed slightly. My arms are folded, something that I’ve consciously tried to avoid doing in the past because it draws attention to my chest. I don’t need to worry about that so much anymore, now that I’ve got a—oh yeah. My binder. I’ve definitely been wearing it for more than eight hours. I want to ask Connor if it matters, but I don’t know how without revealing that I’m trans. I don’t think he would be transphobic, but you never really know. I’ve heard some…less than nice comments from people who I wouldn’t have expected. It’s made me dread people knowing and people not knowing just makes me even more scared to tell them and it’s just a cycle that means that nobody knows except for my parents. Jared’s come pretty close to finding out, but so far I don’t think he suspects anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Connor says. I don’t like that tone. That’s a Serious Question tone. “What’s the most interesting thing you can do with four hundred pounds of Cheddar cheese?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—what?” Connor laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No seriously, answer the question. Somebody asked me a while back and I thought it was an interesting question. Answer it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay? Um, I don’t know. Make a house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor nods. “That’s a good answer.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>About the stew...I don't know. Please don't ask. It just sorta came out. I don't know from where. Also, can I hear what your answers to the question are?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Not A Chapter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I can't update this regularly anymore. I might still do it every once in a while, but every week is too stressful. Stuff is kinda chaotic right now and I need some time. I'm also going to make sure I have backup chapters before I start regularly updating.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments are love! Follow me on Tumblr @oscar-schnee.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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